Super Mom

HA asks us to think about privilege for Tuesday’s poetry prompt at d’Verse

Super Mom

As her hot-flashes began
to roar in the sheets,
catcalls quieted in the streets.

One day it happened:
a young man offered her his seat,
and she took it, grateful
to rest her aching feet.

Some days, she’ll sit in the back
of the bus, silent and unnoticed
but vigilant, watching for trespassers,
scanning wandering hands,
listening for threats and taunts.

She is aware of her power:
a white woman, of a certain age,
slightly matronly,
with no fucks to give,
and the will to step in.

5 thoughts on “Super Mom

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